said I; but I cannot lift the skirt of her sacred robe. we obtain news we only can tell. There are modes.'"

Old Forster's next question puzzled him.

How

"Do you know the Earl of Chesterton at all, or his family? I allude more particularly to his son."

Rolt buried his good-looking, frank face in the glass.

"I cannot say I do-much. I have never been to Chesterton House. The Earl is an old swell, and does not like the press. As to the son, I have exchanged words with him. I don't like him," said the ingenious and ingenuous editor, coming very near the truth. "When we exchanged words, they very nearly came to blows."

"What, is he so irascible, then?" asked Old Forster, making a mental note. "I heard that he was a fine young man at Oxford-one of the athletes, but as mild as a lamb.”

"A very savage lamb, then," said the editor, who had not forgiven Lord Wimpole's striking appeal. "Why, he is a pupil of Jackson's-a regular bruiser-a patron of the ring—a lover of the noble art. He is up to all that sort of thing— quite a sporting nobleman.

"A dunce at Horace, but a dab at taw.'

You know what the poet says, Mr Forster. man as that does not care about literary men.

Of course, such a Let arms yield to the gown, say I. I won't give you the original; although, egad, it's quite the thing to quote Latin to the House-quite the tip-top thing, I assure you; but it must be a very familiar line, one that has done duty before, to please our legislators. You see, they recognise an old friend," said Rolt, with a grin.

"Just so," said Forster, quietly sticking to his point. "And so this young man is an athletic fellow, is he? What sort of man is he?"

"Oh, to do him justice, the dog's well built enough. About as tall as I am, and well made about the hips. Can ride well across country, I should think. A light-footed, nimble, quick fellow, from what I've seen." He might have added, "and felt," but he stopped. "You seem rather particular. Getting up a case, Mr Forster? You don't do the debt businessnothing in the way of the Fleet?"

Here he tapped Forster on the shoulder, as a bailiff might have done; and with his gloved right hand tossed over his other shoulder, pointed with his extended thumb towards Fleet Street.

66

Making inquiries for a friend in that way," grunted Old Forster. "Has he expensive habits? Any vices? Does he

fence?"

"Habits! Vices! Egad, Is hould like to know the man without 'em. Yes, plenty, I suppose-of a sort-of a gentlemanly sort, of course. But why do you put fencing among them?" Here the editor, opening his chest, threw himself into an attitude, and made a pass with his walking-stick. "If fencing is a vice, then poor Tom Lilburn Rolt is a monster. Ha! your tierce, carte-upper and lower-that's your game, Mr Forster!" And the literary gentleman, in his ecstasies, nearly knocked down one of the tall glasses. "Fence," he continued, coming up red in the face. "Well, yes, I suppose he does; indeed, I know he does. I met Captain Chouser, who keeps a room down in the Haymarket thereaway, and is a celebrated master. Poor Chouser! He fought at Waterloo -married an heiress-spent all his and her money on fine company-sold out of the Dragoons-best fencer in Europe. Yes, I recollect he told me, when he thanked me for a brilliant little paragraph, that Wimpole was one of the best hands he had ever crossed foils with. Quick, dev'lish quick-like a flash of lightning-and with an iron wrist."

Mr Tom Forster hereupon rose, looking at his never-failing watch, and found that the half-hour had long passed. Then, to do the gentlemanly thing, he offered Mr Rolt a repetition of his morning draught, which was declined on the most friendly terms; and the editor insisting upon paying, he did no more than button up his spencer, and declare that he must be off.

"I shall keep my eye on you," thought the editor. "Sly dog-very sly dog. I believe that you've got more out of me than I have out of you; but I've taken notes, mental notesbegad I have; and you will find your name mentioned, Mr Forster, without any disparagement, in our next issue of the Argus."

Here, having reached the door of the Hummums, the editor

made a very polite bow; and swinging his tasselled cane' departed round the corner of Tavistock Court, bowing in a grand and condescending way to an old bootmaker, who exhibited at the corner shop some capital Wellingtons and Hessians, of a perfectly Bond Street shape.

66

Humph!" said Old Forster, looking after him with interest. "He is a clever fellow, and does his work well; but he will have to spin a long story to make anything from what I have said. But they are clever fellows. I wonder that more of them don't take to my profession. It's more useful, and quite as respectable. But wait awhile."

Feigning to return for something, the old gentleman reentered the hotel, and, sitting down in the coffee-room, made notes of that which he had gathered from Mr Rolt. Then issuing from Covent Garden, he went forward at a double quick rate across Soho Square into Oxford Street, and made for Marylebone Lane.

Mr Boom was the sitting magistrate; but in the private room, tapping the oilcloth with his impatient feet, and clasping his hands, as he thought of his lost love, Mr George Horton was found.

"Well," he said, as Mr Forster entered, "have you any news of this culprit, or culprits?"

"I have. I am on the track. A word and a deed from you, and then I have the murderer of Madame Martin," said Old Daylight, trembling.

"And," cried the magistrate, rising and leaning forward, as one who was hunting some noxious animal, "who is this wretch ?"

"We touch high game here," said Forster. less than Lord Wimpole!"

"'Tis no one

The magistrate fell suddenly in his chair, and clasped his hands tightly, as in prayer. Had his rival fallen so suddenly, and so far? Had she whom he loved escaped this terrible, this deadly fate, of being united to a murderer? At this thought, his own love again sprang up, and urged him forward.

"Look here, Mr Forster," cried he, with an angry energy. "Look here! be sure you make no mistake! This is a matter of life and death! Great heavens !—can it be true?"

Ꮐ .

CHAPTER XIV.

MR HORTON SIGNS THE WARRANT.

THE magistrate had covered his face with his hands, and was breathing a mental prayer for guidance and support at this terrible juncture; while Old Daylight wiped his forehead with his red bandana, took his spectacles from his brow and rubbed the glasses, and systematically got together his notes. He could not understand Mr Horton's sudden emotion. His view of a magistrate was that, as a rule, he was an impartial, solid, stony-hearted lawyer, with as much blood and feeling in him as a lignum vitæ bowl which lies baking in the sun, or wet with the dew on the grass plot.

Moreover, this lignum vitæ bowl was to be utterly without bias-except a little, just in favour of the prisoner, so as to give him the benefit of the doubt. Such was English justice!

But, in contradistinction to the theory, here was the fact. Old Daylight himself was interested as much as his kind, good old heart could be in favour of anything that could advance Edgar Wade's interests. He had built up his theory, and did not wish to see that demolished. And, on the other hand, Mr Horton was biased in a way which he could not prevent against the accused; and although he strove against himself in every way, he could not help a predisposition to believe his rival guilty. He was a just man; but he could not be impartial.

The brave fellow took the next best step to being so. Finding that his prejudice set one way, he determined that his voice should set the other. Recovering himself, therefore, he looked with sadly fixed eyes, and somewhat sternly, upon the inductive philosopher, and said

"I need not caution you, Mr Forster. Your experience is greater than mine; but it is my duty to recall to you the enormity of the charge, and "-this he said more painfully— against whom it is preferred."

"What does that matter, sir?" asked Old Daylight. "Crime and death are two great levellers. They enter every man's house; the cottage of the mere hind, or the palace of the emperor."

The magistrate, who had been so sorely tempted himself, looked up at the old man, and wondered at him.

"I hope," he said, faintly, "I hope there are some amongst us free from so general a charge"

"Not one," said Daylight. "Every man, woman, or child is a possible criminal. In the cradle in the East, near to the happy Paradise their parents had lost, nestling on the soft skins, and playing with flowers, lay once two children, Cain and Abel. Who then could forecast the future, and foretell the murderer from the martyr?"

"Too true, too true," said Horton, too much occupied with his own thoughts to notice the elevated thought and language of Tom Forster-Mr Forster, it will be remembered, was a reader of Milton, and of good English literature. "But pray, think what you are doing. Lord Wimpole is a member of one of the first families of England. Think of the pain!"

"Sir!" cried the old detective, "first families of England! --what of that, whether the criminals be first or worst! If the poor beetle that you tread upon feels a pang as great as when a giant dies--beg pardon, Shakespeare again, sir!-do you think, as a magistrate and a man, that a poor and virtuous family feels the stain of crime less than my lord duke, or, for the matter of that, my Lord Mayor?"

The possibility of my Lord Mayor being brought up in custody of his own City Marshal, to be tried before his own Recorder, was so refreshing, that Forster came up smiling to the top of the argument, and said, with great joviality, "After that, I think I will proceed with the proofs, sir.”

"You are quite right, quite right, Mr Forster," said George Horton, dreamily.

He saw he could do nothing else than listen to what Mr Forster said. But during the greater part of this exordium the magistrate was dreaming of the fair young face and innocent eyes of Winifred Vaughan, eyes too soon to be blinded with tears.

"Now," said Old Forster, taking out his note-book, "I shall want of you, sir, a search-warrant, two officers, and a warrant to arrest the person of Chesterton, Esq.-we can find out his Christian names from the peerage--commonly called Lord